Café Crawl.

I’m currently killing time in-between two castings, sitting in a café adjoined to a bookshop in Central London.

My first casting was at 11am this morning, and the next one is at 4:50pm; just enough time between the two to consider a different career in the interim. I’m sure I could fit in a short Post Graduate course somewhere, if I had a quick scout about.

The first casting went quite well; it was very in-out (with a distinct lack of ‘shake it all about’). I went in with another actor who was a very nice chap – and afterwards we popped into a greasy spoon around the corner from the casting suite, to kill some time before he went off to another appointment - and I found somewhere to loiter for the intervening hours.

(We both opted for green tea, so I guess it wasn’t that greasy.)

While we were there he told me of how he’d recently secured a part in what has become a recurring series of adverts – and how financially it had turned his life around. This was just the sort of encouragement I needed, after a long spell of being penciled for jobs but not getting the part: the reminder that it can all change in an instant.

I told him about the excitement of securing my first West End job in Dreamboats & Petticoats a couple of years back, as well as the positives and negatives of trying to promote my double act. I told him about the joy of securing Michael Barrymore and Norman Lovett for mine and Glyn’s sitcom reading earlier this year, and the pitfalls of our various jaunts to Edinburgh.

It was a nice conversation; it made a refreshing change to have a longer chat with someone I’d been to a casting with, instead of just exchanging a quick nod at the door before heading off our separate ways.

After that I wandered from Piccadilly Circus through Soho Square and up to the bookshop café opposite the Phoenix Theatre, where I’ve been sat for the past few hours. I had a coffee and a spot of lunch, then settled down with a peppermint tea and my copy of Van Gogh’s letters, which I’ve had for at least a year now, but only started reading last weekend.

(I'm feeling very cosmopolitan.)

Van Gogh is my favourite artist; I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt an affinity with him and his work. I wasn’t sure if I was going to get on with the book at first – but I’ve turned a corner over the past few days and relaxed into his style of writing.

I’ve still got an hour and a half between now and my next appointment. I better find somewhere else to sit and kill the time; I’ve been in this café long enough that I’ve started to accumulate dust.

Here’s hoping the next casting goes all right – and that the journey home isn’t too time-consuming. Got to love those rush-hour trains...

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